


Drunk

by kenopsiaa



Category: White Collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7504513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenopsiaa/pseuds/kenopsiaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Neal must counterfeit an exclusive bottle of wine, and taste-testing is as essential as the exterior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk

The sun had set hours ago over the city skyline, and Peter found himself marveling at the beauty of all the lights that surrounded him and Elizabeth on their drive home from dinner. Usually, the stress and chaos of work kept his mind oblivious to the breathtaking city he lived in. Sometimes he forgot how fortunate he was to reside in such a beautiful place.

"How do you think Neal's doing?" Elizabeth asked from the passenger seat, arms crossed loosely over her chest. 

She was referring to the newest task Neal had been assigned by the bureau: to counterfeit one of the most exclusive bottles of wine in the world, both the bottle itself and the liquor inside. Crafting such a bottle so perfectly would have otherwise been illegal if the purpose of it weren't to draw out a notorious counterfeiter who had plans to fake the same one. If Neal was as skilled as he said he was at imitating wine, his bottle would be entered into the upcoming annual wine auction before the forger submitted his own. That way, when the forger showed up to the auction with his, the FBI would be able to arrest him for counterfeiting. "Oh, I imagine he's feeling a little drunk right now," Peter responded, grinning at the image in his mind of an inebriated Neal stumbling over himself and his words. 

"You should go check on him." Her blue eyes sparkled as they briefly met his. "See if he needs any help, at least."

"I'm sure he's fine," Peter shrugged, checking his blindspot before switching lanes. "Mozzie the wine connoisseur is probably there with him."

"Mozzie's not with Neal. He texted me earlier, asking if I wanted to watch a movie with him about the conspiracy of the Apollo landing."

Huh," Peter muttered, not bothering to further inquire about his wife's friendship with the strange man. "Alright, we can swing by Neal's place."

"Oh, could you drop me off first?" 

"Why?"

"My movie date with Mozzie."

At a stoplight, Peter gaped at her. "You're actually gonna sit through a conspiratorial moon landing film with that lunatic?"

Elizabeth chuckled, quickly pecking his cheek. "It's more fun to watch him watch it. He adds very interesting commentary."

"I have no doubt about that."

When Peter pulled up in front of the house, she leaned over the center council to kiss him. "Tell Neal I say hi, okay?"

"I will. See you later, hon."

"See you later, hon." With a wink, she ascended the front steps; and after making sure she got in, Peter drove off toward the Upper West Side, bracing himself for whatever condition Neal might be in when he got there. 

June allowed him upstairs, where Neal's door was wide open. He knocked anyway before inviting himself inside. 

Neal, who was leaning over the table and holding a dropper above a wine glass, started quickly at the noise. A wide, goofy smile spread on his face. Peter couldn't think of a single time when Neal had been this excited to see him. "Peter, hey!"

Peter stepped inside, his attention momentarily focusing on the absolute mess that had become Neal's kitchen table. There were dozens of half-full wine glasses, spices, and various other substances that Peter had never seen before or known were necessary ingredients. Of course, there were also a lot of papers scattered haphazardly about, most likely containing information about the bottle being counterfeited - the 1947 Cheval-Blanc. "Hey Neal," he began, shoving his hands in his pockets. "How's it going in here?"

"Oh, it's going _so_ great," he gushed, bustling around the table with as much steadiness as he could manage. Peter could see how many times he'd taste-tested by the way his blue eyes were bright and unfocused, and how he wasn't quite able to move in a straight line for more than a couple of steps. "Here - try this." His speech was slow and tangled, and his attempt to walk quickly across the room toward Peter with a glass in hand resulted in most of the wine sloshing onto the floor and the glass itself almost crashing down with it. 

Accepting the glass, Peter steadied Neal's shoulder with his vacant hand. "Why don't you sit down, Neal? Maybe have some water?"

He allowed Peter to steer him toward the couch, but not before snagging his own glass from the table; and then, he all but collapsed onto the cushion. "Hey, what...time is it?"

The sober one of the two checked his watch as he sank down beside Neal. "Almost ten."

He started laughing, running his fingers through his hair. "Wow. Time flies when you, uh - wait, what's that phrase?"

It took Peter considerable effort not to laugh along with him, so he settled for an amused grin. He'd never seen Neal in this state before - hell, he hadn't thought it was possible for Neal Caffrey to get drunk. "So, the wine: you think you've got it copied?"

"Hell yes," he mumbled, chin briefly dropping to his chest before he dramatically tossed his head back up. Then he pointed his finger unnecessarily at him. "Try that shit, Peter, it's fantastic. I give myself a pat on the back for my masterpiece." He weakly slapped his own shoulder. 

Peter sipped at the little amount of deep red liquid that was left; and even though he wasn't really a wine guy, he had to agree that Neal had done an excellent job on this. "Mm, you're right. Good work, Neal. Once the entire bottle is finalized and the details are worked out, I'll let Reece know that we're entering it in the auction." He paused, easily finishing the rest of the wine in one go after Neal had spilled most of it. "I figured the wine expert would be here to help you."

"He was," Neal replied with a lazy wave of his hand, "But then he left."

"I see that." And then Peter studied him, for the first time since he'd arrived. He could see that the excitement and pride of forging the wine perfectly had started to wear off, leaving him lethargic and really...checked out. There was still a faint smile on his lips, but Peter doubted if it would ever truly go away; his gaze was distant, as though his mind was somewhere else entirely, which Peter _definitely_ didn't doubt. And for a very brief, fleeting moment, he wondered to himself what he could convince Neal to admit to while he was in this state. His mind was obviously nowhere nearly as sharp as it usually was, which would probably cause him to slip up more than a few times. "Hey, Neal," he began, shifting his body so that his chest was facing him. "I meant to ask you - how did you pull off that emerald heist in Israel?"

His expression suddenly blanked, as if he had no idea what Peter was talking about. "Israel..."

"Okay, fine. Don't tell me," he grinned. "What about the Rembrandt you stole from England?"

Neal's smile was lazy, but there was still a wicked gleam in his eyes as his head tilted to the side. "Allegedly."

Peter shook his head; he should have known Neal would keep quiet, even if he wasn't in a clear state of mind. He supposed no matter what condition he was in, Neal would never tell him everything.

"Hey, how're Elizabeth and Satchmo?"

"They're both doing well. I'll tell them you say hi," Peter replied after deciding it would be best in this situation to just go along with whatever intoxication-influenced thoughts came out of his mouth.

Then it was silent for a long while - a delicate peacefulness in contrast to the city teeming with life right outside the balcony. Peter could only imagine how strongly that view inspired Neal's artwork, even if they weren't his own pieces.

Suddenly Neal voiced a quiet, slurred comment. "I wonder where Kate is."

Peter opened his mouth to remind him that Kate was dead and had been for almost a year now, until he realized that he was referring to somewhere else entirely. So instead, he softened his tone and asked, "Where do you imagine she'd be?"

"Paris." His response was almost instantaneous. "Kate always loved Paris."

Peter imagined Neal loved Paris as well; if there was anywhere for an art thief to be, it was Paris. And, having probably realized this himself, Neal had most likely spent some time there before Peter caught him. 

"I was gonna propose to her," he murmured softly, his gaze dropping to the wine he'd had way too much of. 

Peter's stomach twisted uncomfortably. Neal never talked about Kate to Peter. "You never told me that."

He nodded slowly, finally meeting Peter's eyes. "Remember that ring I gave to Keller when he took you? To pay off the Russians?"

"The green one from the Scotland Museum?" Peter recalled that day, and how Neal had taken him by surprise by admitting that the ring didn't belong to him. 

He nodded again. "As soon as I found her, I was gonna do it, y'know? I had the whole thing planned out..." He trailed off, momentarily disappearing into his own world before he snapped back again, running his hand over his mouth and jaw. "We were gonna get married somewhere on the Cotê d'Azur, have kids - Kate always wanted kids," he remarked with a melancholy smile. Then his voice softened to a near whisper, his words vanishing into the air around them once they were uttered, "I thought we were gonna grow old together."

He'd never admit it, but Peter's chest started to ache. He had no idea Neal had thought about a future with Kate: marriage, children, a whole life together. Many times Neal had voiced to Peter that he didn't think he was that kind of guy, the guy with a white picket fence and a wife to come home to every night after a normal day at work. But in that moment he realized that if even if Neal wasn't that guy, he would have been for Kate. Neal would have been anyone Kate wanted him to be, and that realization made her death a whole lot more heartbreaking. 

Peter was at a loss for words. He'd intended to come here to check on Neal, see if he was in need of any assistance with the wine - not this. Not to listen to him slur on about the life he'd longed for with his deceased girlfriend while he was probably too drunk to even realize what he was saying. But, that didn't mean Peter _wasn't_ listening. This was the most honest Neal had ever been with him, even if he wasn't fully conscious of it. 

Neal didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve all the pain and heartbreak and sadness that was brought upon him from losing Kate. Nobody did. Peter wouldn't wish that kind of suffering on anyone, especially not Neal. Despite everything, all the arguments and deceit and distrust that always seemed to befall them, Neal deserved happiness in his life. Peter genuinely wanted that for him - he always had. Up until now, he'd doubted that Kate was the one to make him happy. But this conversation, Neal's drunken confessions, proved his doubts wrong. "You really loved her, didn't you?"

"Yeah." He downed the last of the wine with a toss of his head, then set the glass down on the coffee table in front of them. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms, "Yeah, I did." A thought seemed to suddenly strike him, because he stood up quickly and then stumbled back. Had Peter not been right there to steady him, he would have taken quite a tumble. 

"Careful, Neal," He gripped at his biceps, "Why don't you sit back down?"

"No, I... I wanna show you something." With Peter's support he moved forward toward the bedroom area and reached for the painting on the wall that actually served to conceal a secret compartment. From there, he pulled something out - a polaroid. 

It was taken years ago; the corners were soft and worn in Peter's fingers, and the color had faded in some areas.

It was a photo of Neal and Kate. She seemed to have been in mid-laugh, grinning widely at the camera; but Neal's half-lidded eyes were on her, full of adoration and love as his nose barely brushed the side of her cheek. There was a small smile on his face as well, but Peter guessed it was Kate's happiness that put it there. Through these past few years working alongside Neal, Peter had never seen him look at anyone like that.

Peter felt like an idiot. Never once had he asked Neal about Kate or his relationship with her; he'd been terribly stupid to assume that his quest to find her had simply been out of an infatuation with a beautiful girl. He had failed miserably to realize that his fascination with her had extended profoundly beyond a mere surface-deep obsession, and that Neal really had loved her, in every single sense of the word. "Why are you showing me this?" Peter questioned, his voice low and thick with an emotion he couldn't place. 

In response, he shrugged like a nonchalant child, his bleary eyes growing heavy with alcohol-induced exhaustion. "I miss her, Peter."

"I know." Peter put away the photograph, finding himself unable to look at it any longer without betraying the stoic front he'd mostly maintained since arriving. "You look like you could use some sleep, Neal - why don't you lie down?"

He ran a hand over his face, slowly sinking down onto the edge of the mattress. "Now that you mention it, I feel exhausted. Is it morning? 'Cause if it is, I might need to take a sick day, Peter, 'cause I've had a _looot_ of wine. Am I allowed to have sick days?"

Peter chuckled at the stream of questions as he helped Neal under the covers. "It's still nighttime, and Friday by the way, and yes - if you ever feel ill, you'll be allowed to stay home." Before he fell completely into unconsciousness, Peter added, "We can bottle up the wine tomorrow. You did great work today, Neal."

He mumbled a thank you, and Peter decided to put a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water on his bedside table. "You'll need this in the morning."

As he was shrugging on his jacket and preparing to leave, Neal spoke up quietly from his bed. "Peter?"

He paused. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"Everything." He let out a long, heavy sigh, his right arm falling over the edge of the bed. His eyes were closed as his voice came out soft and weary. "You've done so much for me, man. I love you."

Peter stifled a chuckle, reaching for the doorknob. Neal wouldn't remember any of this conversation in the morning, and Peter hadn't yet decided if he was going to remind him. Maybe parts of it he would. Just before he left, Peter replied, "Love you too, buddy."


End file.
